Chapter 6

Movie Night

Their time together flies by, and their nightly sessions in the privacy of Violet’s room are hot and heavy. But Lizzie can’t help noticing, that, despite her strong affection for Yvonne, it’s Violet who the redhead is drawn to, and it is no great surprise when, at the end of their boarding period, the big maid announces that she is staying on with the family to be the baby’s fulltime nanny - and Yvonne’s night time companion.

And there’s a palpable air of sadness when they meet in Violet’s room that final night, each of them knowing that it will be the last time that the three of them will ever be naked together again. But Yvonne has a special treat that she’s been saving, and she slips up to meet them just as the old grandfather clock in the downstairs hall sighs the midnight hour and the household below drifts drowsily towards bed; Brett and one of his male friends alone with the decanter in the billiards room, the soft click-clack of wooden balls like an old tabby’s heart-beat in that still old house.

And there’s not a whisper, not a mouse, as the chimes die away into the soft velvet dusk. Just Yvonne creeping, incy-wincy-spider-like up the side stairs to the attics with a large leather-bound album under one arm; a tiny eight-millimetre Kodak camera in her other hand.

“I’ve a special treat tonight, girls,” she whispers as she slips inside and shuts the door tight behind her. They’ve had a lock installed, but she’s taking no chances. “I want to show you some of my special photos, the ones that kept me warm on my lonely nights before I met you...”

Violet is in her long white nightgown but Lizzie’s already naked, and Yvonne swears that she sees her nipples go stiff like little cocks.

“The legendary special photographs,” the girl gasps, her eyes shining, and even Violet can’t feign indifference over what’s inside that big book of pictures.

“There’s only one rule,” Yvonne whispers, seating herself between them like she usually does. “No-one opens the book while they have clothes on. Are you both alright with that?”

And they laugh and nod. Hell, Lizzie’s already nude and Yvonne is wearing a simple charcoal grey knitted shift dress that shows off her big stiff nipples - Lizzie isn’t the only one with aroused nubs - and she quickly pulls it up over her head to reveal that she has no bra or panties on underneath and her little shaved mound is all bare and on public exhibition.

“Hell, you make me wet every time I see that sweet little cooch,” Violet utters, running her hands up and down the movie star’s naked body. “I just want to hold your head against my big fat pussy and have you lap me up like a kitten with a bowl of cream.”

“All in good time, lover of mine,” Yvonne breathes, kissing Violet’s neck and inhaling her fresh floral scent. “But now it’s time for you to bare your beautiful tits in deference to all the lovely naked lesbian ladies in my book...”

And the big maid nods and quickly strips, her nipples hard as liquorice sticks and leaking a little milk, her fat hairy cunt warm and sleek as Yvonne unties the ribbon and slowly opens the book.

And within lies a Bluebeard’s castle of delight, the six wives of Henry the Eighth exposed and laid bare, as Parisian courtesans and Kansas country girls alike shuck their garments for the camera’s hungry eye, the whole book a grimoire of Sapphic grace as these anonymous beauties pose and strut, eyes soft with promise, pussies exposed and wanton.

“I’m hot just visualising you looking at them and touching yourself,” Lizzie whispers hoarsely, and Yvonne gives a sad little smile and kisses the tip of her nose.

“I’ll do it for you both before we fuck,” she promises. “But before I perform there’s something I want from you two...”

“Anything,” Violet says quietly, her eyes brimming with love, and Yvonne holds up the little movie camera.

“I want to make a little movie of the three of us, you know, like this, naked and in love, both of your tits streaming with sweet milk, so that whatever comes our way we’ll never get old and never, ever, be parted.”

And Lizzie still has a copy of that old film, stowed away somewhere on a top shelf along with some old clothes and jewellery, the pearl necklace that Yvonne slipped into her pocket and the jet brooch that the Mistress had pinned on her lapel when she and Tom Junior finally said goodbye to The Farm for good, plus her own scrapbook of mementos and yellowing photographs clipped from Photo Play, of a beautiful redheaded movie star, sometimes with other celebrities, sometimes just her maid.

And sometimes, on warm nights when the magnolia trees are in full blossom and there’s a huge orange moon and a hot wind in the corn fields, she sits quietly on her porch and waits until everyone else has gone to sleep, and then, quiet as a mouse, she tiptoes soundlessly into the living room and turns on the TV, hoping that there’ll be an old Yvonne La Roux movie on the late, late show tonight...